Killing Time
by Danny Phantom SG-1
Summary: Danny has been fatally wounded, and now he lay dying. This follows his train of thought all the way up to a pivotal decision between life and death and the consequences of his actions in life.


**A/N: It's been awhile since I've written ANYTHING, let alone a DP fic. So, I gave it a shot. This is the third re-do of my original plot, so a few errors and seemingly random inserts may come up here and there. I hope this is not too terrible, though. If you spot any problems, please let me know in a review. Otherwise, please enjoy this new style of mine. Thanks.**

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Killing Time

Well, I guess this is what it feels like. It's not surprising, really. I expected as much, realistically. I just liked to romanticize the notion, I suppose. I wanted it to seem more dignified.

But lying in the grass at an awkward angle on a hill, unable to move one iota is good enough. It's going to have to be. It hasn't hurt for awhile. It did, though, right after I hit the ground. I never want to feel anything like that ever again. Huh…I guess I won't have to now.

…Have you ever passed out? 'Cause it feels sorta like that, only weirder. Your breath gets shallow, and your head starts buzzing with worry, but the pain disappears. That's a plus. The only difference is that I can still see. Granted, I can't move my line of vision away from these stars that are swimming wildly through the sky. I wonder what constellation that is. The only one I can ever manage to locate is Orion. I'm sure Sam would know, being an expert on such mythical things. She would tell me. Or Tuck could look it up if I asked him…

Ugh, now my eyesight's even cloudier. Stupid water. Crying hurts. It's not supposed to hurt anymore! Nothing is. That part should be over. I shouldn't think of my friends and family right now. That just makes it worse…

I need a distraction. A mental distraction. Let's see, what do I usually think about? Ghosts, school, friends, family…okay, let's go with ghosts. Man, I wish I could concentrate my last thoughts on loved ones…but it makes it harder to breathe, especially with that hole in my stomach.

I can't believe that, either. All this time…heh, I almost wish I had died by Vlad's hand, or even Dark/Dan/Phantom or whatever his official title is. That would have been understandable, even admirable. But…I don't know. Johnny 13 was never really high on my list of "ghosts I expect to die from." I don't even think he really meant to hit me so hard. I just started looking around for Kitty, making sure I wasn't about to be ambushed, when…_WHAM!_ Perhaps I shouldn't have concentrated so hard on the future and should have paid more attention to the present.

But I guess it's not so terrible. At least it wasn't, like, the Box Ghost or anything.

So, yeah…WHOA!! What was that?? Is it a snake? I hate snakes. I'm like Indiana Jones. Dum da dum dum, dum da dum! Only I'm not as brave as him, nor as lucky. I'm also not quite as muscular as Han Solo…er…whatever that guy's real name is. I can't think.

Okay, seriously now, what is that? I can't move my fingers to touch it and figure it out. It's kind of slimy and warm and…oh. Liquidy. I'll bet it's red, too. Ew, they're gonna find me all covered in blood and gory.

_If_ they find me…

Well, of course, someone will; I'm in the middle of the park! I hope it's not some kid or innocent bystander like in all those cop shows. It should be someone who knows the real me; someone who would secretly know who I truly am and how I could have really died…which gives me about a one in a thousand or more chance that it will be Sam, Tucker, or Jazz.

Then again, I'm not sure. Do I really want them to find me all nasty like this? Would that image haunt them for the rest of their lives? Hah, maybe I _could_ haunt them for the rest of their lives. I don't know yet…

Ugh, I wish I could at least close my eyes or something. I hate seeing people like that with their eyes open. It's creepy. I should try to do the world one last justice and shut my eyes. But I'm too tired. Too tired to shut my eyes.

How I hate irony. Actually, I normally quite enjoy the good laugh it generally provides me. It's kind of interesting. But not when I'm at the butt end of it. I'll bet Jazz would find it to be an "exemplary literary device used to express the deeper meaning of life" or something like that. Heh, meaning of life. Why should I be thinking of that at a time like this? Yet another continuation of the bitter irony of this situation.

Oh, wow. Has that tree always been there? At least, I _think_ it's a tree. It's kind of moving, but so is everything. I'd squint if I could, but I don't think it would help, anyway.

Hmm…actually, I think it's a person now. That looks like a mouth moving, but I can't tell what it's saying, if it's saying anything at all. I hope you're not some random little kid come to find me, alert the police and end up a suspect for my murder! That would be ironic.

Ah, I think I'm moving. Floating on top of something, maybe. The stars are changing now. Am I ascending? I didn't know heaven was…sideways. I'm not going up anymore, just sideways. Hey! Where'd the stars go? I don't like this white, boring sky. And that loud noise. It makes my head hurt worse than it already did.

Ah, at last. The process of passing out is finally complete. Hello, blackness…

…And hello, whiteness again. Oh, so bright. This isn't fair. I was just ready to fall asleep, and then POOF! I'm awake again.

Or maybe not. This place is, like, glowing. Uh oh. I've heard stories. And if those stories I've heard, those movies I've seen, and those books I've read are all true, this can't bode well for me.

Oh, boy. Here He comes. This must be Him. The Big Man Himself. Oh, God.

Oh, wait. If that's Him, this is a total letdown. Well, not to sound BAD or anything, I was just expecting…Him not to look so much like Clockwork.

This is a rather funky dream. Or vision. Or whatever.

"Hello, Daniel. This is not a dream, or a vision, or whatever. This is very real. Gravely real," Clockwork says in that ever-solemn tone of his.

Oh, so he can talk to me.

"Of course I can, Danny. And stop acting as though I can't hear you. I can."

But I'm not even talking! I'm just thinking.

"Yes. But in your state of being, both are essentially the same."

My state of being? Okay, now he's just sounding like an old, senile, cliché wise man. Though, I must admit, he is rather shiny and peaceful right now. Hah, it's like he's an angel. My little guardian angel Clockwork. Man, my world is so messed up.

"Actually, Danny, you're correct. In a way, I am acting as somewhat of a guardian for you. And I have been for quite some time," he chimes in, still sounding monotonous and annoyed.

You? _You're_ my guardian angel? What a disappointment. All my hopes, dreams and expectations of this "afterlife" thing are being dashed away one-by-one.

"This is not the afterlife, Danny, and I'm no angel. But I have come to you before They can, so as to offer you a choice," he says vaguely.

Wait, if you're not my guardian angel, why are you…uh…guarding me, then?

"Ever since your little skirmish with your future self, it has been my duty to watch over you. You are my responsibility. So I am here now, ready with the options I can dispense to you," he replies briefly.

Suddenly, I'm not feeling so hot, Clocky. Is this…really real?

"Yes, Danny. And, please, refer to me as Clockwork. Even in your dilapidated state, I'm sure you can manage at least a smidge of common courtesy," he says dryly.

Well, if these choices you're about to give me are the ones I'm thinking they are, I choose up, please. Not down.

"You're not quite at that stage in the game, yet, Danny. You're getting there, though, and that's when They will come, but I've come with some slightly more pressing choices."

Let's see, as far as I know, I'm dead. Huh…I really can't think of any more pressing issues right now.

"This is serious, Child. I've come with three options."

Okay. Shoot.

"You can choose from moving on," he began.

Which is where we get into the up and down stuff, I assume.

"Becoming a full-fledged ghost, considering you're already halfway one of us," he continues.

Yeah. Stuck with the rest of you for all eternity. Joy.

"Or you can go back to your body," he finishes.

I know that he's got to be crazy. I give him the most idiotically annoyed look ever (at least I try to, I'm not even sure I have any sort of corporeal form right now…).

Well, DUH! I want to go back to my body, please. Ding, ding, ding! There's your answer.

"I'm not sure you realize the struggle you will have to endure for this, Danny. Remember, I know everything, and I can tell you that going back won't be easy for you," he states sadly.

…Why…?

"I can't reveal any details to you, as I'm forbidden to do so by the Observants. In fact, I shouldn't even be here giving you these options. But I felt the need to step in. For, I knew if you had let your spirit glide around freely with now help, you would have become full-ghost unwillingly," he reveals to me.

Oh. Wow, thanks, Clockwork. I…didn't know.

"No. You didn't. And you still don't. But, then, no one can know as I do."

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Philosophy hurts my brain. Please no more of that, or I'll be confused for eternity.

But…why will going back be hard?

"Because, Danny," he says, hanging his head soberly, "you will return to a very painful life."

Will I not be able to help people? I mean…will I be crippled?

"It is possible," he replies.

But there's a chance that I may not be. An alternate reality, right?

"Possibly," he answers, and I can see the indecision and his desire to tell me the truth in his eyes. But he can't. And I know he can't.

Is it something else? Or just…physical?

He doesn't answer.

Does it have to do with Sam? Will she not love me? Is that how I'll be hurt?

"Possibly," he responds, now eerily quiet.

Oh.

I see. So, basically, if I return, things will be different between us. Maybe I'll be horribly disfigured or handicapped, and she won't want to be with me anymore. Or maybe, as we speak, time is passing by so much more rapidly in the real world, and I've really been in a coma for years, and when I reawaken, Sam will have married someone else. Is that right? Is she that impatient? That shallow?

Now, Clockwork simply shakes his head. "I can't reveal anything to you, Danny. I can only give you those three options."

Well, much as I appreciate your advice and counseling, I'd still like to go back to my own body. If I get back and Sam doesn't love me…well, maybe my mere presence there will make her think otherwise. Or perhaps I can just haunt her by still being there.

He gives a sigh (irritated that I haven't guess correctly?), and then nods. He whips his staff around gracefully and points it square at my face, right between the eyes.

I can feel myself slipping away from this eerie, glowing whiteness. But as I begin to lose my senses in that world, I hear Clockwork say to me, "Perhaps _you_ won't be haunting _her_."

Before I can thoroughly think through what he means, I become incredibly disoriented and my mind begins spinning. Where am I? What's going on? When will I get back to my body?

Will I get back at all?

Then, all of a sudden, the world goes black. Breathing becomes difficult, as I just realize that I hadn't been breathing throughout my entire encounter with Clockwork. I can feel a terrible pain in my stomach, and I have to clench my teeth to keep from moaning in agony. It hadn't hurt this much the last time I was conscious in my body. They must be in the process of reviving me…"bringing me back to life," I suppose. Though I think they had less to do with it than they think. Clockwork is the real culprit for my living.

With all the strength I can muster, I manage to crack my eye open a tad, and I see everyone I expected to see in my hospital room, crying.

All, save one.

But it's not the one I expected.

"Where's Jazz?" I ask lightly, unable to believe that my own sister had not attended my own near-death experience.

"Danny!" Sam yelps, and she rushes over to my side. There she is. And I can tell by the way she's sobbing and grasping my hand for dear life that my assumptions were way off on her.

"Dude, you're alive," Tucker chimes in, though I can tell by the look on his face that something else is gravely wrong.

So, I ask again, "Where's Jazz?"

There is a sustained lapse of silence as they all simply stand there. They don't even look at me. They look at the ground or exchange saddened looks at each other.

"Is she…?" I begin to ask, unsure of even what to say. "Dead," I suppose would be the first thing to emit from my mouth at a moment like this, but then how could that be?

I don't understand.

But then I realize they can't hear my thoughts, so I vocalize my confusion. "I don't understand."

"Danny," Mom starts, a look of complete disbelief on her face, and I can tell she's not going to be able to finish whatever she was going to tell me. She just leans into Dad, no longer crying, just looking extremely bewildered.

Dad, likewise, seems to simply be in denial of whatever has transpired, as he doesn't shed a tear, either.

I look to Tucker, expecting him to know.

"Is she…gone, Tuck?" I ask again, phrasing it as eloquently as I believe possible.

Tucker shifts uncomfortably. "Yes."

My heart sinks and I can feel tears begin to well up, but before I can inquire how it happened, Tucker clarifies, "But not in the way you think."

I squint at him, puzzled, then turn to Sam, begging her to explain to me.

She sighs. "Danny. Johnny 13 did this to you…didn't he?"

I begin to nod, then stop. How would she know that…?

She takes a deep breath. "Jazz is gone, Danny. She left with Johnny 13. Apparently, he's been trying to find hosts for both him and Kitty to use to become human again…you know, because they died so young, I guess. And," she breathes unevenly again, "I suppose you've been so busy with me, and Jazz has been so reclusive lately that we didn't notice it."

Again, I can only articulate one thought, "I don't understand."

Tucker starts up again, "Jazz was Kitty's host, Danny. Johnny managed to get her to come back to him, I can only guess by disguising himself somehow, and he used her. Only this time, it was so secretive that no one noticed…I guess."

We all stay very quiet. How had no one noticed this, is what we are all thinking. Sure, Sam and I had been dating, and I hadn't been home too often…and sure, Mom and Dad had been out dealing with the ghosts I allowed to romp around while I busied myself with Sam…and sure, Tucker wouldn't have checked up on Jazz randomly…leaving Jazz alone at home…vulnerable…

Oh, no.

And, suddenly, those tears I had held in earlier reemerge, and everyone else in the room follows suit. Guilt. All of us feel it, but we don't know how to fix this one.

Well…I have an idea of how to not let anything like this happen again.

But no one is going to like it.

I look over to Sam, seeing the love and devotion in her eyes, but I sigh and turn away, breathing heavily. I can't look at her and tell her this.

"Sam," I start, still turned away, "we need to stop this."

She stops stroking my hand, eyes narrowing. "What?"

I shift my gaze back to hers, tears in my eyes. "We can't be together. I can't be with anyone. Not if this is the price."

"But…but, Danny, maybe we can still save her! There's got to be a way!" she argues adamantly, stubborn as ever.

"Maybe there is," I agree, "but then what? We just let it happen again? I don't think so. I'm so sorry, Sam. I love you, but…we can't be together."

I feel like a cheesy superhero. Spider-Man and Mary Jane. But I guess they had a point. I guess great powers do necessitate responsibility, something I thought I had, but I guess I didn't. This is real life, not a comic book.

And I can't get involved with anyone.

Sam begins to nod slowly, a small river of tears trickling from her eyes. "I'll always love you, Danny. And I'll always be there for you, no matter what," she says in a voice that's oddly soft and understanding, uncharacteristic of her.

I nod, then begin to think dryly of what Clockwork had said.

_I can tell you that going back won't be easy for you …you will return to a very painful life_.

I suppose I was partially right when I assumed Sam and I wouldn't be together. But she was not the root of the problem. Jazz was.

No, _I_ was.

And, now, even Jazz probably wouldn't appreciate the sheer irony of the situation.

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**Originally, Danny died, and then I wrote a version where Sam died, but they were both too cliche. I needed to show more of a concentration on Jazz. This is actually sort of like a satire of my own writing style, with my emphasis on Danny and Sam and not enough focus on other characters. Hopefully, this was enjoyable and my painstaking efforts at revision paid off. The present tense and first-person POV really threw me for a loop, though, as I rarely attempt them. Any comments at all are welcome. Thank you! **


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